


Misery Wasn't Always Chasing After Me

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not really happy, Other, Self-Harm, or whatever, this was supposed to be longerb but i gave up lmap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title from LlammaProductions's English Version of "Irony"<br/>alt. title: five times alex didn't get help. or was alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Wasn't Always Chasing After Me

**Author's Note:**

> More of a vent.  
> A a A AAA

1.

The bandages he had wrapped around his forearms and thighs a week prior are deteriorating; the sticky factor depleted on day four and they are all disgustingly blood-stained and not it's pristine white. Alexander hadn't had the money to buy a pack, and he can't fake a school injury to steal any more rolls of gauze without an inspection over his scrawny body. He learned _that_ a few families back.

He sinks down to the tiles inside of his current Forster home's bathroom, tears prickling the edges of his tired eyes. Where did his options go? Why did they all evacuate the sinking wreck of Alexander Hamilton? Why why _why_? What did _he_ do?

Snatching the curling edges, he unravels the bruised and scarred mass of flesh he calls his left thigh. At least his shitty Foster parents had disinfectant laying around their bathroom. Alexander mechanically pours a bit of the hydrocortisone onto a cotton wool ball, then brings toe partially soaked ball to the open cuts. Stings like a bitch. Gets the job done. He then carefully recovers his leg with the bandage's once-sticky side down. The teenager secures it with a double knot.

Prays to God this would tie him together for the coming week.

 

* * *

 2.

Being an abrasive bastard has it's obvious side effects: fights and enemies; being a strong-willed debater has it's obvious side effects: fights and enemies. Fights and enemies go together with Hamilton like Nutella and peanut butter go with honey. It's naturally delicious.

Alexander had won indeed, everyone present at the small rally had agreed, but winning doesn't excuse someone from fallout. He was too prideful to put his on-edge guard back up. He wasn't paying enough attention. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't careful enough. The hands that grabbed him were visible, they were out in the open, how did he not _see_?  (The fists and kicks were vicious. Never-ending, not wavering in force. Non-stop.)

He suffers "minor" injuries; bruises. His previously saved work, which had been turning a sickly green and yellow, is now hidden beneath bruises that painted disheartening shades of black and blue. He felt some wounds reopen when he started to lean against the alley walls, blood seeping into his shirt-it needed to get washed, anyway. He thinks his ribs are bruised, but he's not a medical expert at all. 

Breathing hurt. Everything hurt in that dull pain Alexander is too used too. (At least his face wasn't too damaged, he could cover this up.)

 

* * *

 3.

"Hamilton, do you have a lunch?" Mr. Washington asks, concern threaded in his words. It broke him from the train wreck of his thoughts. That's a lie. He simply hops onto another train wreck. He doesn't remember the last time he ate, actually. Maybe it was Monday night? (today was Thursday).

"I, uh, forgot to pack one." Alexander answers sheepishly. Lie.

"Again? You forgot on Tuesday. And last Thursday." 

"I usually eat after school anyways, sir." _Lie lie lie  
_

"Son, are you sure?" Alex shifts his too-weary-to-be-angry-with-"son" gaze to catch Mr. Washington's, who in contrast has an intense iron-clad stare. He feels his face force that signature bold, shit-eating smile and ~~lies~~ nods to ~~try to convince himself~~ reassure his teacher. He returns his attention back down to his homework, but doesn't catch the disbelief George displays beneath his stoic mask.

 (Washington never pushes the issue, but he will always keep it in the back of his mind.)

 

* * *

 4.

The injuries hadn't miraculously gotten better by it's own. Alexander scoffs; why would they _not_ somehow disappear with first-class treatment he gives of all nighters and no food, rest, or proper medical care?

Mind-boggling. 

He limps (his leg had apparently been kicked a bit too hard, or something. Every time Alexander applied pressure on his right leg, a shooting pain screamed at him to STOP.) to the school's second-floor bathroom. The lights flicker as the lightbulbs are older than himself, and all the stalls are open. The coast is clear, good.

Alexander hops to the sink closest to the paper towel dispenser. The faucet is shitty in the sense that it only shoots out water for fifteen seconds, but the coldness of the water will put his inflamed muscles at ease. The coldness will temporarily wash the pain away. Ease the fire. Slowly, yes, but everyone knows the tortoise trumps the hare in the race.

"Gee wizz, I could about kill for TJeff's crusty Mac n' Cheese," Humorless laughter, "Or some of Pegs's My Little Pony band-aids."

 

* * *

 5.

Alexander was never a happy kid growing up. The lack of proper care and love from his own parents taught him to mature into an anxious, alert mess of a kid. The jumping from foster home to foster home made him distant from people and fucking terrified of every single adult. The suicide of his cousin steered him towards the mass of scars now present (and growing) on his body.

He was so close to achieving happiness in his teen years, honestly. He had friends, people who actually cared if he showed up to school with bags under his eyes and a limp he couldn't hide. He had people who sometimes bought him a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos and a juice box. His own _teacher_ made time so he could talk to him. 

(Whenever things start to shine for Alex, the rug is always, always pulled from underneath him.)

God, he didn't _deserve_  these people. He needs to get away, away away away. Selfish is he for attaching his disgusting existence to a group of radiant stars. Leaving at night would work, but running away would just get him arrested. He's a fox, but honestly can't make it far in the state he's in-he's a fox who got snagged in a bear trap. 

Maybe he could meet his mom. 

His cousin was always a smart one.

Alexander is tired. Always tired, but today is the worst he'd felt in a long time. Everything is rattling inside of his head, everything is pouring out. Tears, thoughts, actions. His body ached for sleep and begged for better care. Care he could never provide. 

Oh well. 


End file.
